


don't go where i can't follow

by xxpaynoxx



Series: Bilbo Dies [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: ????????????????, M/M, Why Did I Write This?, bilbo dies instead of thorin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 19:20:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3740608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxpaynoxx/pseuds/xxpaynoxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin has never seen something happen that fast before; one moment, Bilbo was standing on the shoreline with no one around him, Sting in his hand and a smile upon his face, and the next with a sword through his chest and a tall, pale orc with metal embedded in his skin behind him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't go where i can't follow

**Author's Note:**

> im so sorry in advance i was listening to sad music and this came to mind oh lawd im so sorry forgive me *hides in a hole*

Swing after swing, the blade of Orcrist sang through the air and made contact with the pale orc’s exposed skin nigh a dozen times. But whenever the blade stabbed into Azog’s flesh, it did not seem to register. The pale orc’s advances grew stronger and more hurried, and Thorin felt himself growing tired. His rage and adrenaline could not keep him awake for long, and he began to weaken from his eating dilemma during his dragon sickness.

Azog slashed his sword across Orcrist’s with such a force that it brought the dwarf king to his knees, and finally onto his back. He notched his blade underneath of Azog’s, forcing the pale orc’s arm away from his chest. Azog pressed down, and Thorin’s arms began to tremble under the effort. His arm muscles began to scream in pain, and with one final thrust, Thorin threw the blade away from his chest. Azog stumbled, his arms swinging beside him, and Thorin took that chance to drive Orcrist deep into Azog’s chest.

The pale orc froze, looking down at the blade's handle, making eye contact with Thorin as he wrenched the sword from his chest. Then, as if someone had pushed him, he toppled over the edge of the waterfall, his hands hovering over his punctured heart. Thorin watched the pale orc fall, and hit the icy ground with a loud crunch. Thorin turned and saw Bilbo standing on the opposite shoreline, pointing at the sky. “The eagles,” he said, for it was so quiet he had no need to raise his voice above a whisper.

Thorin looked at the sky and saw the eagles of Manwe soar through the air. They swept across the battlefield, taking out the many battalions of orcs. The war was all but won at that point, and Thorin smiled to himself. A small movement in the corner of his eye made him turn. He watched a tall, pale, wiry orc with metal in his skin detach from the wall and run at Bilbo. Thorin could only reach his hands forward, Bilbo’s name falling off of his lips as he watched the orc run forward.

Thorin has never seen something happen that fast before. One moment, Bilbo was standing on the shoreline with no one around him, Sting in his hand and a smile upon his face. The next, the hobbit had a sword through his chest and a tall, pale orc with metal embedded in his skin behind him. Bilbo let out a small whimper, his body shuddering as it fell off of the blade.

Thorin let out a roar, and his vision clouded in red as he sprinted at the orc. For a moment, an expression like fear crossed the orc’s face. Then, he also roared something in his language and met Thorin halfway with the loud clash of metal on metal. Thorin parried the orc’s blade and swung his sword time after time to land on the metal armor of the orc. The frenzied attacks had the orc cornered, scrabbling for a hold on the icy cliff. Thorin brought Orcrist’s point up to his chest, and the orc fell silent. Its eyes were wide and a sickening white, as if it had contracted an illness of the mind. A long gash across his face was metal, and somewhere in its face, Thorin saw Azog.

“Die, filth,” Thorin whispered, and the orc’s eyes widened as he chopped its head clean off. The head fell to the ground, and the body slumped soon after it, blood oozing out of the chopped ends. Thorin turned and saw Dwalin with Bilbo, along with Fíli. Fíli had Kíli in his arms, caked blood on his temple and more dripping off of his right hand through his clothes.  
Thorin walked forward, Orcrist dragging and falling from his numb fingertips as he slumped next to Bilbo. The hobbit’s breath hitched as Dwalin’s hand pressed his chest wound to stop the bleeding. “You can do no more here, Dwalin,” Thorin said, looking into his friend’s eyes, “leave us.”

Dwalin’s eyes were glassy as he placed Thorin’s hand over Bilbo’s chest wound. He stood and motioned to Fíli, and they left the hobbit and dwarf together. Thorin watched them go, and then looked back at Bilbo. The hobbit’s eyes were open and looking at Thorin, as if he was studying him.

Thorin moved closer to Bilbo, smiling to him. “You look terrible, Master Baggins,” he said, setting his fingers into Bilbo’s soft brown curls. The hobbit chuckled, which turned into a cough as red blood sputtered out of his mouth and down his chin. Thorin mopped it up with his sleeve, which did not do much, but it made Bilbo smile. His eyes twinkled as he sighed. “I never thought it would end like this,” he muttered to himself.

Thorin’s eyes widened. “No, you cannot die now,” Thorin said, his eyes going glassy. Bilbo blinked. “Such is the nature of evil, Thorin. You should know this, that evil always looks to snuff out the light,” he said. Thorin shook his eyes, closing his eyes. “No, no, don’t go where I can’t follow,” he breathed as he tried to stop the bleeding of Bilbo’s chest tear.

Bilbo’s small hands came up and stopped Thorin’s hands, and he let one of them drift unto his face. Thorin touched it with his own, and smiled through his tears. “I cannot express how thankful I am to have participated in your adventures,” Bilbo murmured. He coughed as he tried to breathe again. Thorin squeezed Bilbo’s hand. “It is more than any Durin deserves, to travel with someone as perfect as you, Bilbo,” he whispered.

The hobbit’s lips cracked into a crooked grin. “I feel honored to die next to my king and my love,” he whispered, his eyes beginning to cloud over. Thorin froze, savoring the word “love” that had uttered from Bilbo’s lips. Had he just professed his love to Thorin on his deathbed? Had his stupid burglar just told him he loved him and then leave him?

“I love you, too,” Thorin whispered, and Bilbo’s head nodded, his eyes falling shut. His hand went limp against Thorin’s cheek, the heat seeping into Thorin’s cheek. A pale white sun rose above the horizon, but Thorin did not feel its heat. His eyes could not leave the pale face of Bilbo, his beloved burglar, and the closed eyes that would never feel the breeze of the Shire again.

Thorin’s wail of pain echoed across Ravenhill, and then, there was silence. Snow began to fall on the two forms, and the snowflakes on Bilbo’s eyelashes made him look more like a snow sprite than a hobbit. Maybe it was better this way, Thorin thought. Bilbo didn’t belong in this world; he was too pure, too precious, too kind.

“Life is cheap,” he muttered to himself, cleaning Bilbo’s face of snowflakes so he seemed less cold.

~~~

Thorin did not let go of his hobbit, not even to let any of the dwarves take him away to be buried. He snarled, clutching Bilbo’s cold, stiff body with a fire in his eyes that frightened even old Balin. They tried to reason with him, but it was in vain. Their king was lost in the world of grief.

Thorin tried to not attend Bilbo’s funeral.

He couldn’t bear himself to even get out of bed that day. Balin tried to reason with him, and Fíli and Kíli tried. It was finally little Ori who managed to get the king out of bed. He had walked in and said, scathingly, “Bilbo wouldn’t have wanted you to act this way about him dying. He wouldn’t have felt this way if you died. The Bilbo I remember wouldn’t have any of this nonsense you’re trying to pull here, Thorin Oakenshield.”

It was silent for a few moments, and then Thorin sat up, facing away from Ori. “What would you know about how Bilbo felt?” he said, his voice dripping with poison. Ori stood his ground. “I don’t. But I can take a pretty good guess that he wouldn’t attend your funeral,” Ori pointed out. Thorin stood up and looked at Ori. The young dwarf was expecting his gaze to be venomous, but it was the opposite. His red-rimmed eyes looked broken. He looked broken. Ori didn’t know what to do.

Thorin dressed, talking every once in a while to Ori about Bilbo. Ori mumbled his responses, trying to be positive when he could tell that Thorin was trying to fake his happiness. He was doing a terrible job.

The funeral was short and sweet. Balin had invited Dís and Dain, who had accepted the invitation and arrived within the night. As Thorin left his room, he saw his sister comforting two smaller people, just the size of children. Thorin realized that they must have been Bilbo’s parents. One was a woman with long black hair, weeping into the silk handkerchief she held to her trembling lips. The other was a man, with creases in his skin and deep, sad eyes with a large beerbelly.

Dís paused, looking over at Thorin. The two hobbits turned as well, and the woman’s reddened eyes widened. Thorin realized he hadn’t even changed from his battle-worn cloak, and he scrambled to go back to his room. The woman suddenly reached out and grabbed Thorin’s hand, stopping him. “I’m so glad you decided to honor our son in this way,” she whispered. Thorin could hear Bilbo’s characteristic accent in her words. He didn’t know what prompted him, but he drew her into a hug, the two breaking down in each other’s arms.

Bilbo’s father stood silently at Dís’s side, his eyes glassy as he watched his wife cry. Thorin let go of her and let her follow Dís into the main hall. He returned to his room and changed clothes, running out and just making it into the room before the doors closed.

Thorin did not cry during the funeral readings. He only cried when Bilbo’s mother talked of him.

She talked about how he was an adventurous young hobbit. He would stay out late, looking for elves, and catching fireflies. He would run in and carry twigs and leaves with him, a jar full of fireflies in his hands. She said that as he grew older, he became more timid of the outdoors. He grew afraid of what lay beyond the borders of the Shire, and settled for the world of books rather than what was out there.

“I suppose this was one adventure where he didn’t realize the impact of it,” she said, choking back a sob. Bofur and Ori were already crying, and Dori and Balin looked about to break into tears. Thorin stood tall, his arms folded across his chest as he watched Bilbo’s mother finish her speech and return to her seat. He bit his lip and looked away, because he knew that Bilbo did know the impact of their quest. He knew what he had to do, and he volunteered to go interrogate the dragon. He knew how badly Thorin wanted his home back, and he was willing to sacrifice himself for that want.

Thorin bolted from the room. He heard Dís call his name from the room, but he did not look back. He couldn’t breathe in that room; the air was too thick with the stench of death and sadness. He couldn’t stand hearing all those things about Bilbo that weren’t true. He knew what he was getting himself into. He wanted to do it. He wanted to see what was beyond the Shire. He wanted to see other worlds, and learn from the elves in Rivendell and Mirkwood. He wanted all those things, and what Bilbo’s mother said struck a chord inside of Thorin.

He curled up on his bed, and there he lay for many hours, sobbing into the sheets as he wished Bilbo was here. He wished that he'd make it all seem akin to a joke and crash his own funeral. But it was not so, and Thorin cried even harder. His sobs were audible in the hallway, and Dís heard them. She broke away from the crowd, walking right in to Thorin’s room without an invitation. She crawled onto the bed, pulling Thorin into her lap and cradling him like a baby.

Thorin turned over and stared off into the distance, tears still coursing down his face. “If this is love, I do not want it,” he choked, and Dís nodded. “I know,” she whispered, running her fingers through her brother’s braids. Thorin sniffled. “Why does it hurt so much?” he whispered, and Dís blinked, a soft smile flickering across her lips.

“Because it was real.”

~~~

“You don’t have to do this.”

Thorin glared at Balin. “You don’t understand. This has come to me, and I must do this. It was Bilbo’s final wish,” he said sternly. The old dwarf planted his hands on his hips, sighing. “Thorin, you could just plant it here. I don’t see why you have to go all the way back to the Shire,” he complained, throwing his hands in the air. Thorin swung his rucksack over his shoulder, walking forward and placing his hand on Balin’s shoulder.

“There is no choice, Balin, not for me,” Thorin whispered. Balin let out another long sigh. “Then go. Fíli will do fine without you,” Balin said. Thorin smiled, patting Balin’s shoulder and leaving his room behind. He would not be coming back for a long time; this was one break he deserved.

Thorin fingered the small token in his pocket. Nine months away from Erebor, with only Gandalf as company.

What a break.

~~~

The border of the Shire were covered with green grass, and a patch of purple tulips grew by the roadside as Gandalf and Thorin rode in. The wizard had agreed to accompany Thorin on his quest, as he said it would be similar to “coming full-circle”. Thorin did not understand his expression, nor feel any similar emotion towards it. But, there were many things about wizards he did not understand.

They rode all the way up the hill, to a frighteningly familiar green door. The sun shone through the small window out front, and nothing stirred within the house. Thorin stopped his pony in front of the house, jumping off and climbing up on top of the hill. The wizard leaned on his staff as he watched Thorin dig a small hole in the ground. He placed a seed in the dirt, covered it up, and poured some water on it from the waterskin on his belt.

Gandalf watched as Thorin jumped back down to the ground, looking up at the hill. “Do you think it will grow, Gandalf?” he asked. The wizard chuckled. “It is an acorn, Thorin. I believe it will grow and shield Bag End until the end of time,” he said. Thorin let a smile dance across his lips, before he leaped onto his pony and trotted off. Gandalf followed suit, and as the two forms galloped into the horizon, the acorn broke open.

And a small green seedling broke the surface, ready to do the one job it was made for.

Remember all that had happened, and how happy it was to have made it home.

 


End file.
